Civility
by Ferrard Carson
Summary: When Shepard meets the man who brought her back to life, there begins a tense and unusual alliance the likes of which have rarely been seen before.  Classified as friendship for lack of a better term.  Same continuity as "Horizon" and "Snapshots".
1. Pride

_As always I do not own, nor claim to own, anything associated with BioWare's most magnificent piece of Intellectual Property. I merely write about it. Please leave reviews, critiques, and / or fluffy things. Most importantly: Enjoy the yarn._

**

* * *

Pride**

Minuteman station was gone. In its place, a vast black expanse, the smooth slate floor extending out into infinity while a massive shimmering star glowed in serene violence, casting its orange and blue pallor over the entire virtual reality.

For that was what Shepard knew she had entered. She was surrounded by all the hallmarks of early experimental holographic technology, the classic "feelies" that debuted years ago. It seemed… quaint.

The stars, both distant and immediate, were not the only presence beside Shepard. A man sat before her in a simple, Spartan chair, sifting a lowball with one hand, tapping out a cigarette with the other. He looked up at Shepard; she stared back, her face schooled into a mask of indifference.

"Shepard," the man with metal eyes said. "How are you feeling?"

"Commander, November-Seven-Two-Eight-Yankee-Zero-Tree-Zero-One-Eight-Kilo-Papa-Fife-Tree—"

"You're not a prisoner, Shepard, you can drop the charade."

She didn't respond.

"Commander, if you were a prisoner, we wouldn't have let you keep that set of armor you're wearing. The only reason you are unarmed is because you attacked my people, but you and I both know you need not be armed to kill. Now there are matters of importance to discuss, but civility is a lost art in these dark times, and I do what I can to maintain what little of it remains, so I'll ask again, how are you feeling?"

Shepard blinked. "Alive."

"Well I'm glad to hear that. The Lazarus Project was quite the gamble, but I trust that it has only begun to pay off." The sharply-dressed man took a sip from his lowball, setting it back down and smiling. "I'd offer you something to drink, but I'm afraid I make a rule of conducting these meetings in this manner."

"A necessary precaution," Shepard said. "Illusive Man."

"I'm glad you understand."

"You look different than your InOps file suggests."

"What's to say I haven't had my image altered for your benefit?" he traced a lazy circle through the air with his extinguished cigarette. "Besides, my file in the InOps database is hopelessly outdated, and it's been two years since you last had an opportunity to take a gander."

"Cut to the chase," Shepard snapped. "You brought me back for a reason, and it sure as hell wasn't to shake my hand for a job well done."

Again he smiled. It was a thin gesture, full of teeth. "If I may digress for a moment, I in fact do want to shake your hand—figuratively, of course. Your campaign against the Davinport cell was well-executed, if a bit inelegant. In a way, I have you to thank for exposing the gross excesses to which Joachim had ventured, and you even spared me the expense of disposing of the fool."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Next you're going to tell me you never endorsed his actions, and if you had known, you would have put a stop to it, I know how you play this game, and if I had wanted to play it I'd have been shuffling papers at a desk on Arcturus two years ago instead of gasping my last and lonely in Alchera orbit. Something's big enough that you don't care that I'm Cerberus' worst nightmare since Heracles decided to take you for a walk."

"I won't pretend you haven't caused your fair share of headaches, but all that is meaningless in light of our present situation. Though the Alliance refuses to admit it, humanity is under attack. Entire colonies have been disappearing in the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems. Human colonies. We believe it to be the work of the reapers, or more of their agents."

Something metal ground in Shepard's elbow as she folded her arms. "Am I suppose to just take your word for all this?"

"Not at all. I'd be disappointed if you didn't demand to see proof." The Illusive Man's eyes sparkled wickedly as Shepard glowered. "Your shuttle should be finished re-fueling for a trip to the latest colony to be hit, Freedom's Progress. They went silent about when you were fighting off Wilson's mechs."

"Really now?" Shepard said. "How convenient for you."

"I'll admit the timing is fortuitous. It allowed me to intercept and delay the initial discovery enough for you and your team to be the first ones on the surface."

"Who is 'my team'?"

"Operatives Lawson and Taylor will accompany you to the surface. Impressive as some of Cerberus' operations have been, we simply don't have the manpower to assign you a full squad of trained soldiers, so you'll be given the best we have instead."

"What makes you think I can trust either of them?" Shepard asked. "Miss Lawson shot a man in cold blood. Mister Taylor is just a gun-for-hire."

"I daresay Jacob would be somewhat amused by your thoughts on his motivation, and Miranda did exactly what I wanted her to. Wilson was too dangerous a loose end to have around you. When I say they are the best, I also mean in discipline, not just ability. They will follow your orders because I tell them to, and they will continue to protect you for the same reason."

The Illusive Man stood, lowball in hand. Taking a sip, he drew near and waved disarmingly. "I understand that this is all quite a bit to take in. Suffice to say that eventually you will realize that you and I are on the same side. Our methods may differ, but never doubt that I have humanity's best interests at heart. If I'm not mistaken, you set your goals higher, but for now our cause is one and the same. The rest of the galaxy is in no less danger than humanity; I intend to stop the reapers, and I'm asking for your help in doing so."

Shepard frowned. Cerberus was everything she stood against. For three long years, she had been a crusading knight, flying up and down Alliance space in an effort to root out and destroy the very man she was now conversing with. For three long years, she'd vowed to dismantle the terrorists from the ground up until nothing remained of them but a brief codex entry for students to learn of in history class.

But The Illusive Man was right, much as it galled her to admit it. All the battles, all the struggle and death would have been for naught if the reapers arrived and carved a bloody swath through the galaxy. Cerberus was small peas. Meaningless. Focus the Alliance and the rest of the Citadel on the real threat and all of sentient life might stand a chance in the coming onslaught. Would Shepard do what had to be done, or would she fall back to her dogma, the closed-minded crusading that would kill itself to assuage its pride.

_This is exactly what he needed to say, and he knows it. He's playing me like a damn fiddle._

She fixed him with a cold stare. "If what you say is true… If the reapers are behind this… I'd _consider_ helping you."

The man regarded her with those glowing blue eyes. Within them, she could see satisfaction, not triumph. "Thank you, Shepard. Don't think I don't know what this takes, listening to the words of your enemy. Whatever you find on Freedom's Progress, know that I am grateful for that. Miranda and Jacob will be waiting for you at your shuttle. Good luck."

Shepard watched him return to his seat, where he keyed a haptic button. Out the corner of her eye, the vast expanse of black disintegrated, and she found herself staring at a blank wall.

Squaring her shoulders in the ill-fitting armor, she turned and walked back out the way she came.

* * *

In his conference room, The Illusive Man lit another cigarette before pouring himself another splash of scotch. Leaning on the corner of his desk, just outside the hologram capture zone, Miranda sifted her own drink, looking over a transcript of the entire exchange.

"That took long enough. Our scout ship just sent back a report: quarians entering the system. They'll be on the ground a good half-hour before we can even enter orbit."

"Miranda, something as delicate as issues of loyalty cannot be rushed. The time we spent here was necessary, otherwise I would have gone with your original proposal."

"It's still my current proposal."

"And my answer is still no. That kind of control would ruin everything we've worked so hard to accomplish, turn Shepard into nothing more than a pawn of our own. Sovereign may have been content working through indoctrination, but between Saren and Shepard, who walked away?"

"This whole operation will have been for naught if her Alliance sympathies are allowed to hold sway over her."

"That's being dealt with. For now, keep her safe, and keep her occupied. The Alliance will be taken care of by the time you return."

"Very well then. By your leave?"

The Illusive Man nodded, and Miranda glided out of his office. He finished his drink as he watched Shepard and her escorts board the shuttle, then turned to his desk. The intercom blinked red, and he pressed the activation stud. "Yes?"

There was work to do.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

A nice little side-project to distract from my main work. I always thought the TIM / Shepard friendship was never given adequate exploration within the game. Constrained by the need to get players from mission A to mission B while giving them as much useful information as possible, I never really got a unified sense of just how the two would work together so readily, and how they felt about one another. So here's the interactions of my continuity's Shepard and TIM.

Reviews, critiques, and fluffy things, all welcome.

~ Ferrard


	2. Calculus

**Calculus**

The bounds of his world were limitless. The flat, polished slate surrounded him, vanishing into the distance far beyond the limits of simulated human vision. The view was peaceful, as always, a sharp contrast to the chaotic screens wrapping around his simple metal chair. Their contents vomited orange light from the cold statistics and accumulated secrets that formed The Illusive Man's world.

The standard reports were there. Little progress. No progress. Slow and steady work. Nothing flashy, a welcome piece of news. The latest analysis of Salarian political calculations quietly updated in the corner of his eye. Dalatresses and their subordinates were depressingly predictable, but only to one who could follow their breakneck pace, and even in the last five minutes since he'd checked, the predictions had changed ever so slightly as the numbers and calculus shifted.

A red light blinked on, and he pressed a stud on his control panel. "Yes?"

"We've just gotten a download from Lawson." His aide's voice sounded incredulous.

"And?" the Illusive Man sighed. Cryptic answers were admirable. Half-answers were not.

"Sir, she forwarded quarian data along with her report."

Another sigh. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before the quarians interfered—"

"That's just it sir – the data was apparently given freely. It includes… ah, I believe you should read it yourself."

"I see it now." The report and its attachment burned orange against the slate as The Illusive Man closed out less important haptic displays. "Thank you, that will be all."

"Yes sir."

The message floated in midair, faintly lighting the surrounding black.

_Unexpected. But good. Lawson and Taylor did indeed listen._

* * *

Shepard's skin tingled as the scanning matrix rose around her for the second time in less than a day. Her armor, seared by the exploding heavy mech, hung loose from her shoulders, the ill-fitting ballistic mesh utterly soaked through with sweat. Her muscles ached in every way she had ever felt before, plus some novel new sensations – until now, she'd never known how much work simply breathing was. Every inhalation was torture for a sore, atrophied diaphragm.

Combined with a rude awakening, an embarrassing knock-out, and several journeys through the perpetually unsettling mass relays in an appallingly small, unstable shuttle, the math of the equation all added up to a very uncomfortable second life, so far, all of fifteen hours into it. Lieutenant Taylor had been thoughtful enough to find a cup of coffee and an upper of the sort that had seen Shepard through the last leg of the N7 trials, but if she didn't get bunk-time soon, then someone was going to get a boot up the ass.

Who better deserved it than the man materializing in front of her eyes?

"Shepard," he said. "How are you feeling?"

She blinked. "Still alive."

"I fear I must apologize for a grave logistical error," he continued. "I had arranged for there to be a small tray of assorted fruit for your convenience upon arrival, but it appears to not have come to pass."

"Even if it had, I'm not certain I would eat it," Shepard said.

He looked almost crestfallen. "Still burdened with an over-abundance of caution?"

"Indigestion."

"Oh."

"Apparently the only thing I've had to eat in two years has been two or three packets of e-rations from the shuttle and a cup of bilge."

"I'll see what my people can do to fix that."

"Are we done with the pleasantries?"

He shrugged. "If you so wish. I'm sure you're ready to rest for the evening."

"Don't you want to know what I found?"

"Your thoughts are yours to share or guard as you see fit. I have the information I need, but the question is whether you have the same. My conclusions have been reached, but I will be the first to admit that they are somewhat premature."

Shepard folded her arms. "What are your conclusions?"

The Illusive Man sat back against his chair, fishing a cigarette out of his jacket. The slim coffin nail glowed in his hands when he lit it. "The collectors are working for the Reapers. I do not have any hard evidence of this, but the patterns are there for the intelligent man—or woman—to discern. Take the time to look, and I'm certain you'll see them just as quickly as I did. This campaign being run against humanity smacks of arrogance tinged with fear. We killed one of them, so understandably the Reapers would show caution and restraint, but they are first and foremost the equivalent of machine-gods to our insignificant perspective, and they know this. One fact that can be twisted in our favor."

"So what do we know about these collectors?" Shepard asked.

The Illusive Man smiled for reasons unknown, "InOps, as well as my own analysts, have recently upgraded their threat to the equivalent of minor slavers, this due to their bit traffic in live specimens from nearly every species in the galaxy. Ten humans here, twenty salarians there. They tend to emerge from the Omega 4 relay only to perform such trades. Beyond that, our greatest body of knowledge regarding the collectors resides in Veetor's recording data, an intelligence boon for which I believe you are to be thanked, though I must lament the loss of an eyewitness."

"Tali gave me a copy of his data as a favor, but no matter how much she may look up to me, there was no way in hell she or any of the other quarians were going to hand Veetor over. Why is that?"

"It's quite the long story; I presume Miranda filled you in on the rather rocky history between our organization and the Migrant Fleet?"

"After a fashion," Shepard said. "There were plenty of embellishments that just made my head hurt more than it already does."

The Illusive Man snickered. "Good, you noticed that. Loyal though she may be, open-minded-ness was never one of Miranda's strong suits. Beyond her jingoism, though, is a significant amount of truth, at least from our point of view, which is why this olive branch was particularly unexpected."

"Like I said, Tali did it for me. Not Cerberus."

"And I applaud her for her sensibility, and will certainly thank her for that generosity. Privately, of course; it would do no good to tarnish the girl's repute with her peers any further than it already is."

Shepard frowned.

"You look troubled," The Illusive Man said, pulling on his cigarette. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Her thoughts. As though they were in any semblance of coherence. It felt more like her brains had been progressively scrambled as this horrific second lease on life had unfolded, and there was something awful tugging at the back of her mind. For one damn thing, this refined gentleman with cold electric eyes was far too genial, too respectful. There was a significant cognitive dissonance between the image she had chased for three years, a slavering xenophobe hiding behind eugenics and firearms, and the suave man taking a drag on Gagarin-brand cigs, over two-hundred credits a pack the last time she'd seen them on sale, applauding his enemies for their strength of conviction and character.

Somehow Shepard couldn't shake the feeling that the moment she ceased to matter in his strategic calculus, he would order the hit on her and pour himself another glass of scotch.

"Why do you want to bring me on board? I may be a symbol, but I was a damn expensive symbol, and one which could have turned on you."

"So you are open to cooperation?"

"The jury's still out; don't push it."

He nodded respectfully. "The question of 'why' is perfectly clear. You have already proven your worth with Veetor's data. My methods are harsh, and usually they work, but yours are more effective and even required in certain situations. I don't need to tell you that the Reapers are a threat to all sentient life in the galaxy. A galactic threat demands a galactic response, the power of which you demonstrated two years ago. Due to the reputation I and my organization have accrued, I cannot hope to orchestrate such an alliance. No one would listen to my words."

"But you thought I would?"

"A gamble, to be sure. When I say it was our galaxy's best chance, that should reveal a great deal about the other options available to mankind."

Shepard smiled grimly. "It's not as if you've been giving me a choice."

"I'll admit, a captive audience is much easier to preach to." The Illusive Man's grin was just as knowing. "Nonetheless, that has not been my intention. The pace at which I've been keeping you is unsustainable, this I know. Now that Freedom's Progress has been dealt with, there are no pressing matters of concern. You may feel free to rest and recuperate on Minuteman Station in whatever fashion you see fit. In three days time, one of my other projects will come to fruition, and you will be permitted to leave the station for whatever destination you desire, but in the interim, I've instructed the crew to extend to you every courtesy due an honored guest.

"If I may be so forward as to make a suggestion," he continued. "Take this time and assess your options. I won't hide anything from you. A lot in the galaxy has changed in the two years you've been away. You won't be able to return to where you were, not easily, and even if you could, would you?"

"I do hope you're going to allow me to make that judgment for myself?"

The cigarette flared and died as he crushed it against the ashtray. "Of course; your will is your own. But don't let me keep you. I know you're tired, and I know that armor doesn't fit well. Speak to Parker at some point, and I'll make sure that's seen to."

"Thank you," Shepard said as she became aware once more of the awfulness of the Cerberus assault armor she'd hastily donned fifteen hours ago.

"One last note before you go," The Illusive Man said as the virtual reality began to flicker out of existence, "I believe someone has brought the previously promised fruit to you."

The wall in front of her was blank, but behind her, someone was noisily smacking their gums on something that sounded delicious.

"Hey Commander," Joker said, popping another plump strawberry in his mouth. "I know you like 'em and all, but why the fuck are there so many kiwi's on this platter? It's seriously freakin' me out."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Sad to say, Shepard isn't feeling up to much snark or battles of wit. Symptom of being on the go without any rest, re-toning of muscles, or food, plus that unfortunate period of being dead. This being a story narrative rather than an interactive one, we're going to spend a little bit more time on Minuteman Station with Shepard and her pals, both old and new.

Also, Tali's data had a verse from a human poem appended to it. It's a little garbled from translation, but it likely will show up in a later chapter of one of my works.

Thanks to Inverness for giving me the kick in the butt I needed to get my creative juices flowing, and as always, leave reviews, critiques, and / or fluffy things.

~ Ferrard


	3. Trust

**Trust**

The gold lines played across the room again as the virtual reality interface initialized and the edge of her vision turned into polished black slate.

Shepard's uniform fit her perfectly – even better than the custom dress blues done up by Public Affairs after Elysium. It was to be expected, since any of her attendants could have easily taken her measurements before Miranda had woken her. Shepard's only modification showed in the loose threading where Dr. Chakwas had cut the stitches and torn out the Cerberus logo for her. Shepard had tried herself, but the fine motor control just wasn't there yet. The good doctor insisted it would return with practice.

"Shepard," The Illusive Man said as he materialized before her. "I trust you slept well?"

"I've had worse nights."

"No doubt," he said. "The uniform suits you, I'm glad you've found it adequate for your purposes."

"Something about wearing battle armor at all-hours seems to make my minders nervous." She picked at the seam of her slacks, fingers shaking ever so slightly in the blue-orange glow.

A sip of his brandy. "Shepard, you would make them nervous in the finest evening-wear credits could buy. Elite operatives though Lawson and Taylor may be, you're Shepard. The Hero of Elysium herself, humanity's greatest and brightest star. Next to you, they feel… insignificant."

"And you feel?"

"Honored, Commander." His silhouette leaned back against the chair.

"I'm sure you've got enough of a dossier on me that you know what I think of flattery."

"Point taken. Where would you like this conversation to go, Shepard?"

"The _Normandy_."

The Illusive Man smiled. "Your yeoman gave me 4:1 odds that you and Lieutenant Moreau would know exactly what to name your ship. I appear to owe her a bottle of Thessia's finest – my mistake for ever doubting an expert."

"That's great," Shepard rolled her eyes. "I'm so sad. I'll be sure to mourn your loss with-"

"Shepard…"

"An AI?" Shepard snapped. "You put an AI on your ship?"

The Illusive Man was nonplussed. "I see you've met EDI."

"You put an- I know Cerberus is an extremist organization, but I was under the impression that you stayed away from the blatantly suicidal."

"And you would consider our reviving you, our greatest and most skilled adversary, to be…?"

Shepard paused. "You're about to call it 'a calculated risk,' right?" She got a knowing smile in response as he pulled on his smoke. She continued, "You really believe that this will pay off, that the blocks you've put in place will prove sufficient to ensure EDI doesn't go all Hannibal on us."

"Yes," said the man with the metal eyes.

"You're not going to let me and Joker deactivate her?"

"No." His voice was firm. "You will need every edge I can muster for you."

"And why would I not simply waltz into Hackett's office, flash that SPECTRE badge, and bring the Fifth Fleet crashing down on your doorstep?"

"Commander," The Illusive Man stood. "You've been a Marine since the day you could sign the papers. You made officer in half the time as the rest of your cadre. You've been a player in Alliance politics since Elysium, and a skilled one at that. You've been N7 since the start of your Davinport Crusade. You saw the Council at its finest during Sovereign's invasion."

Shepard's heart was sinking. "And?"

"You know how this works." Metal eyes.

She knew how this worked. There was no continuity of contact. She was now a threat. A likely actor and imposter, all the more so for her high profile before Alchera. Jellico at InOps would be clamoring for an interrogation and indefinite detention as a person-of-interest at best, an enemy agent or outright traitor at worst. She was in no state to resist interrogation, and Jellico's best were the ones who'd taught her how to resist in the first place. She'd be broken, used for the Alliance's purposes, and swept under the rug, and the Reapers would still be out there with no one to stop them.

If she ended up in Alliance hands. _Exactly what The Illusive Man wants you to think_.

"I know how this works," she repeated. "But I refuse to believe it."

"I know, Shepard," he said. His voice was warm and sad. A father who knew his little bird had to fall to learn how to fly. "I know. That is your one greatest advantage over me. Despite the constant disappointment, despite the hard facts that you and I both know, you still believe the best of people. That they will foremost do what is best and what is right."

"Don't," she started. "Don't pretend to know me."

"Of course, Commander."

Assets. What assets did she have? She had herself. She had the undying loyalty of Joker and Dr. Chakwas. She apparently had the support of the most wanted terrorist in human territory. She had a crew that held her in much higher regard than she held them. She had a ship, and she had markers to call in around the galaxy. This could work.

"_Normandy_'s shakedown is in three days?"

He sat back down at his chair. "Yes."

"Wrong," she said. "It's tonight. In twelve hours, station staff and _Normandy_ crew will finish any priority tasks they need to complete in order to get her relay-ready, and I will take her to a destination of my choosing, where I'll see for myself."

"Of course, Commander," The Illusive Man tapped at his haptic display for an eternal ten seconds. "The order has been given. Your ship will be ready for your command at 2100 hours, station time."

She blinked. "You trust me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

He drew himself up in his chair. "Because you are the best humanity has to offer to the galaxy. To stop the Reapers. Not me, not Counselor Anderson, not any of the Admiralty, not another soul in the galaxy. You."

His cigarette glowed a blood red in the darkness. "Right now, I'm the only person of influence who believes in you. Given time as you play your cards like I know you will, that will change. Right now, though, you need my help, and you and I both know this.

"I trust you," he finished, "Because neither of us has any other choice."

He was wearing her down. Shepard could feel it in his every word, that willingness to submit to his logic, to throw out the old, ingrained hatred of that orange emblem and accept his help. It did not have to be wholehearted – she could accept his help, use his resources, and discard Cerberus at her convenience. The thought kept gnawing at her.

It was wrong. A deal with the devil. A surefire way to get a knife in her back when it would most benefit her mortal enemies.

And the only way to survive the next month.

She squared her shoulders. "I smell even one whiff of betrayal, and I'll end you without a second thought."

"You and I both know that won't happen, Commander."

"2100 hours," she said. "The _Normandy_ will undock, hit the relay, and go where I choose."

"Understood, Commander."

_I know how this works._

"We're done here," she said. The obsidian tiles around her faded into walls of grey and she looked to the side at Joker. "Let's go - we've got work to do."

"Right behind you, Shepard," he said.

* * *

"How charming," Miranda said as his office faded back in view. "You don't expect Jacob and I to control that."

"Of course not," The Illusive Man said as he finished his glass. "You know I don't want you to control Shepard. I want you to tell her the unvarnished truth."

"We need her," Miranda said, dropping the devil's advocate role for a split second. "We need her and she needs us."

"Exactly." He fixed her with his blue metallic eyes. "The sooner she realizes that, the more effective we all will be when the real threat appears."

"She's going to go to the Citadel. To Anderson."

"Of course. He's the one person who will believe Shepard out of hand."

"Is that visit really necessary?" Miranda asked, sliding back into her role. "Public spaces right under the Council's noses? Offices and Presidium space crawling with InOps and C-Sec surveillance?"

"The time for subtlety and shadow-work is past," the man with the metal eyes said. "Neither of those is truly Shepard's strong suit in the first place. She'll make her presence known – it may even make our task of keeping InOps and C-Sec off her back that much easier if she's prominent in the public eye. Most importantly, you and Taylor are my best. You will keep her safe and out of anyone's hands."

"Except ours."

He nodded. "Except ours."

"And our own security? We're laying a lot of our cards on the table here."

"A risk we will have to take if Shepard is to succeed."

"Very well then. 2100 hours?"

"As the Commander orders."

"By your leave."

The Illusive Man nodded, and Miranda glided out of his office, ready to make good on his gamble. The fate of all of humanity rested on his trust in Shepard, and he always bet on the winning horse.

He poured another glass of brandy to convince himself he was right.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hey… it's me. Three years later. I'm somehow not dead? Don't expect any magic, but I do have some spare time to write, and this was the second thing I came back to. The first was the next chapter of Horizon, which I haven't touched in three years. My first instinct is to nuke the entire chapter and replace it. This, however, is smaller and bite-sized – ideal for a return piece.

In a perverse sense, both Shepard and The Illusive Man can trust one another completely. There's simply too much to lose from betrayal and little to nothing to gain, and both parties are extremely rational actors. Here's where Shepard truly reaches the understanding that she can at least respect The Illusive Man to a certain extent. He's dependable and predictable, if sufficient variables are known. A known devil, and one she can maneuver around and potentially manipulate if she plays her cards right. TIM has known this about Shepard for years, of course, and has the additional advantage of Shepard's options being very, very limited (some of which he can take credit for).

And yes, The Illusive Man has his doubts. Towering pillar of political prowess and intelligence master though he may be, he's still only one man, prone to all the failings that men are wont to suffer.

As always, reviews, kind words, and fluffy things appreciated.

~ Ferrard


End file.
